The Mind Meld
by MissJesselle
Summary: First time. Kirk/Spock.


_Star Trek does not belong to me._

_*****_

Spock sometimes had the wildest ideas.

Like directing a tiny ship full of red matter into a massive mining vessel while having no idea whatsoever whether he will be beamed away in time.

Or suddenly throwing a fit in the middle of a game of chess, telling Jim in terse, forcibly calm sentences that he couldn't take it anymore, or to be exact, _could not_ withstand it – _it_ meaning the untameable lust he apparently felt for Jim and could no longer suppress – and that he would request a transfer and bury his, and quote again, "insatiable, abhorrent, bestial passion", deep inside him; and when Jim told him that it was OK, he had the hots for him, too, Spock just stared at him and then did something that didn't really qualify as a wild idea – after both of their confessions, immediate sexual intercourse seemed only logical – but directly led to one.

Or at least to Jim, reaching for meld points right when Jim was thrusting into him in a way that would definitely have a painful aftermath seemed like a pretty wild thing to do. Not to mention that Jim's brain was working only on minimal power right now, about as much as to keep him living and breathing - and seeing and smelling and touching and feeling, and oh god, still _tasting_ - since most of his blood seemed to be needed elsewhere.

But then Spock's burning hot fingertips found the proper spots on his cheek, temple and forehead and -

Jim's mind simply blacked out for a minute, from suddenly being filled up to bursting with another presence, his body kept going on autopilot, but he had to struggle to bring himself back to consciousness against the oppressive otherness, to reassure himself of his continued existence as an individual.

Although he wasn't much of an individual when there were _two_ of them, was he? He clumsily gathered the shards of his shattered sense of self, fought the urge to back off and huddle in on himself and then went to meet the intruder.

He was prepared to challenge him, to fight him, to set the boundaries between them straight, so he was completely caught by surprise when a vast sense of apology and plea and submission enveloped him.

_Jim, forgive me, I did not realize, do as you like, I will not force you._

The abrupt change from forceful to gentle, from confident to doubtful, from breaking to broken momentarily disoriented him again, but soon he found his bearings and dived deeper into himself and into the other, looking for something concrete to hold onto.

Feeling the honesty, the infinite self-recrimination, the _love_ in the sentiment that echoed through him, not invading, but ensconcing, soothing, made him almost desperately want to return it, but he didn't know how, he was not the master of the delicate workings of his own thoughts, he wasn't focused enough, he never was.

So instead he conveyed the feeling physically: he eased the pressure of his fingers and caressed the bruises he had left on Spock's hips, he slowed down his movements – and he sensed the astonishment of the other and oh so much affection again, he thought it was maybe too much too soon too fast …

But then he felt Spock's mind drawing away from his own as the long fingers slowly drew away from his face, and it was such a great sense of loss, but also of renewed self-hood – Jim wasn't sure which was worse, being occupied by the other, sharing every thought, good or bad, or being left alone, independent, but empty and longing.

Soon he stopped thinking altogether, coming to a climax, and he didn't notice whether Spock did or didn't or had already, he was too preoccupied with himself and he had a good reason, because this was just _too much too soon too fast_ and Jim was completely overwhelmed by it, wishing for relief, but all the same regretting that it was over, the last tingles of excitement, the last remnants of the other thoughts fading away from his mind and body.

"What the hell was all this?" he asked Spock, some time later, when they lay on the floor, curled together, spent and worn-out.

"This was the beginning."

*****

Thank you, Reader, please review.


End file.
